


The Director and the Understudy

by jessieb



Series: Is it adultery if you have permission? [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Sort Of, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-06-26 13:48:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15664440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessieb/pseuds/jessieb
Summary: Sequel to The Voyeur. (Working title)The morning after, and after. Galadriel has always excelled at making choices, but the stakes are high.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [King-Thran-Oropherion](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=King-Thran-Oropherion).



> Special mention to my friend @king-thran-oropherion, who commissioned the most gorgeous piece of artwork inspired by The Voyeur, which has reinspired me in turn. It was like being taken right back to the same mental headspace. When I can work out how to add a picture, I will do. Thank you!
> 
> Also, Galadriel is all confused and hard to follow- this is a combination of writer’s intent and knowing that if I’m too picky this will never get published!
> 
> Begins...well, about ten minutes after The Voyeur ends!

It was Thranduil who eventually stirred from the bed.

He raised his head from the crook of Celeborn’s neck, detangled himself from his caressing hands, sat on the edge of her bed and stretched. For a moment, he paused, eyelashes dipping, and she took the opportunity to commit him, naked and satisfied, to memory.

Without a word, he began to collect his clothing. 

Celeborn asked her with a glance; she nodded. Yes, that was best, and she consented. So Celeborn rose too, the luxurious unwinding of his body seemingly innocent. She knew better and resolved to tease him also when he returned. ‘I’ll accompany you back,’ he stated. 

‘That’s not necessary.’ Thranduil said, turning his breeches the right way around.

With one hand, Celeborn stilled Thranduil’s, and with the other pressed gently between his shoulder blades to bring him close for a tender kiss. ‘It is for me,’ he said. ‘It is, when I love you.’ 

In answer, Thranduil embraced him tightly. The fingers of one of his hands curled against Celeborn’s broad back, much as Celebrian’s had as a child.‘Very well,’ he said when they parted. 

He still avoided her eyes, still appeared to find her gaze an invasion. An irrational response, considering what she had already witnessed Celeborn do to him this eve. The two of them dressed, pausing now and then for a kiss or caress, combing each other’s hair back into a semblance of neatness. 

Celeborn crossed to the chaise, and his smile was warm as he bent to kiss her. Perhaps a little knowing, too. The embers still glowed at her core, though the evening had grown cool. Tenderness need not take all eve, she stated, for only his mind. 

He paused, inclined his silver head. Yet it was clear that, in this, he would take as long as he deemed right. Though Thranduil hardly required such coddling. As though to show it, Thranduil came to them then, fully clothed once more, with no sign visible of what had transpired except perhaps in carriage and visage, and flashed an ironic sort of smile. 

’My thanks for the loan of your husband,’ he said.

The performance had been well worth the payment on her part. It was on the tip of her tongue to say as much, but that would probably forestall a repeat. 

‘You are most welcome. Rest well, Thranduil,’ she said instead, ’and may your dreams be filled with us.’

The door closed and finally finally she could touch. She discarded her gown beside her upon the chaise; one hand found her breast, the other the warmth between her thighs. Oh, how sensitive she was! Those two, together, were torment wrapped in a beautiful packet. 

What a road to have travelled, to have experienced this reaction. To think of herself as a youth in the West, innocent of so many things, was strange now. She had been unable to comprehend the rumours of Fingon and Maedhros. Never could she have predicted these nuances of how things would change, never would she wish it different. 

She moved her fingertips quickly, feeling deep satisfaction after waiting for so long. Without warning the wave crested and she climaxed, sudden and intense. The chaise was comfortable; she lay back and rested as she waited for her husband to return. 

Memories of the West, how they needled and nudged, how it tugged at her mind as Celebrian had her gown as a child. The memories...and the fear. How typical, she thought yet again, that Melian’s Mirror would not show her the means of her absence, only the result; Celeborn, alone in eternal twilight of his grief as he paced his old beloved woodlands. Until, eventually, he would take the path of so many before him, and simply lay down upon a bank and be no more, neither hroa, nor fea. 

That must never be allowed to come to pass. 

However her leavetaking might come to pass; whether by weapon, or grief, or happenstance (drowning seemed better than fire. Yet more fearful than a swift fall). Or merely the weight of time’s passing and this ever present reminiscence would finally (unthinkably!) overtake her love for husband, land and freedom Though of course, that last could not come to pass while she bore Nenya. And if she came to ill whilst she bore it, Celeborn would have to take it up. All well and good in this watchful peace, but as Thranduil said it was only a matter of time, and in this she agreed. However many times she looked into the mirror, there was this one constant; her eventual absence.

It was at this point in her distraction that Celeborn himself returned.

She rose, naked as she was, and went into his arms. ‘You are back sooner than I expected,’ she said. He had donned simple bedclothes befor leaving; she took advantage of his thoughtfulness by loosing his shirt and running her hands across his strong chest.

‘Thranduil wishes to bathe, so he sent me from his door. I think he wants to be alone for a time.’ 

‘He probably wishes to reflect on how thoroughly he has been bedded.’ 

He huffed a laugh against her reaching lips and returned her kiss. ‘You are incorrigible,’ he murmured, his hands ghosting and groin stirring. And the fingers. Fingers right where she wanted them most, and liquid pleasure. His tongue traced her ear to the tip. 

‘And wetter sooner than I had expected,’ he whispered, and kissed behind the lobe of her ear. 

Her breath feathered. ‘You were an inspiring sight’. His hand moved in her hair, thoughtful and those lips moved now to her neck.

‘ “Dreams are filled with us?” ‘he asked. 

‘He has certainly granted me ample fodder for imaginings.’

‘And the dreams we inspired; I assume they were not merely he and I?’ 

She drew back from his arms, took the hand that wasn’t busy making circles, and drew him with her to the chaise. 

‘Sit here,’ she said, ‘Where I sat. Can you imagine how it must have been to see you both together? To watch you make love to him? Watch you make him so utterly yours?’ 

‘He isn’t mine, dear one.’ Still, he did not stop her as she straddled him. Instead, he took one of her nipples in his mouth, and his warm hands on her thighs pressed her down to take all of him. 

She heard it again, heard Thranduil saying Celeborn’s name, saw the look on his face that moment Celeborn was first inside him. How would it be if he were to sit thus astride Celeborn, as he had early on that evening? If he had sunk down as she now did? Speared. Spitted. His fingers would be clutching for balance, for anchorage, for solace from the feeling of Celeborn inside him. And she would have been able to see, so well, where Celeborn’s cock was swallowed. And perhaps, one day, touch...touch with one gesture the both of them so intimately. 

Celeborn was pressing upwards to meet her, and his insistent hands urged a rhythm so satisfying her body began to tighten. He was looking up at her, his bright eyes rapt, his kisses heady. 

He had been as fervent with Thranduil. As tender, as cherishing, as utterly devastating, yet there was something missing too, and something new. This evening, Celeborn had been more dominant, his capable hands more demanding, and there had been the steadying sense of an older kinsman in a new game. And, as with her, that sensation that you were everything in his world. 

Thranduil adored him in return. (Of course; who in their right mind could not?)

She had it. That bleak future would not come to pass, not if she tweaked the right strings. If she wove the present correctly, her leavetaking need not leave her beloved bereft and without succour, and the joy of the knowledge rose in her and propelled her, like Manwe’s eagle upon the wind, into her climax


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, Thranduil didn’t get the memo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solar (hall)- a smaller hall, more private than a main hall used for feasts  
> Ivon- A Sindarin word for the goddess Yavanna 
> 
> (Hopefully, all the chatting in this chapter won’t bore you! I was going to spend more time making it more atmospheric, but I’m currently working on accepting when things are ‘good enough’. So. Fingers crossed.) also, any suggestions for a name for this sequel would be well received!

By morning, she had it all planned.

 

She would nurture this.

 

And when she left, as one day she must, there Thranduil would be to succour beloved Celeborn, and to keep his fea in the world of light and life, not swimming in twilight. Eventually, when Celeborn finally grew weary of this land, he would yield to the yearning; he would be alive, and aware enough, with Thranduil, to do so. Thranduil would bring him back to her. 

 

She would not lose him. Only say farewell for a time. Much of the fear that had been blighting her dissipated like mist under a noonday sun. 

 

At breakfast in Amroth’s solar hall, she greeted Thranduil with a kiss to the cheek, which freed Celeborn to do the same. He lingered a moment, hand at the small of Thranduil’s back and voice soft. ‘How are you?’ he asked, solicitous as ever.

 

Thranduil squeezed his arm only briefly. ‘Fine,’ he said, then gentled. ‘I’m well, in fact.’ His eyes flicked towards her and he turned away from Celeborn to sit at the table. He did look well, full of energy and life. 

 

Celeborn sat beside her, his hand cradling hers as it had for so long. He ran his thumb over her skin, using his other hand to pour apple juice for each of them. 

 

‘You were out early this morn,’ Celeborn commented. ‘I thought to call on you.’

 

‘I went for a walk. Did some sketching.’ 

 

‘Ah’, he said. Then nothing.

 

‘Did you find the doe you were looking for?’ Galadriel asked. ‘The one with the unusual markings.’

 

‘No, but there was a goshawk about who was quite curious as to what I was doing. The one who resides in the beech north of the falls. She says you have hunted together once or twice.’ This last he said to Celeborn. 

 

‘Yes, a lovely bird.’ His smile was warm, teasing, and a little melancholy all at once. ‘Fortuitous that you should come upon each other when she reminds me of you.’ 

 

A goshawk. Brash, contrary and reckless, perhaps? As though Thranduil had been developing his mind speaking capabilities, he shot her an amused look. 

 

‘What do you say to this; should I take umbrage?’

 

‘That you must decide for yourself, cousin; to know oneself is, after all, the beginning of all wisdom. Yet, in this, perhaps the greater wisdom is to know more of the goshawk?’

 

They both grinned back at her, and the similarity made her heart jolt. Celeborn lifted the fingers of her hand to his lips for a kiss. 

 

‘A most Nandorin sentiment. It is a pity Amroth is absent; you are become a devotee of the woodlands, indeed.’

 

Thranduil hummed as he took a sip of juice, a sliver of his youthful humour showing in his wicked glance at Celeborn over the rim of the cup. ‘Or of you, more likely,’ he said. If he wished to tease, she could oblige him. 

 

‘You are both wrong; and both right. Wherefore should my husband and I have squandered the blessings of having travelled so far afield in our blessed Ea? I’m glad of the gift of difference. Indeed, I thank you both for last eve’s interestingly different...perspective.’ 

 

Thranduil put his cup down quickly, smothering a cough, and his change of topic was about as subtle as a silmaril. 

 

——

Amroth was drifting again; not even having his cousins visiting appeared to hold his attention for long. Thranduil, whose fortitude had been visibly wearing a little thin for some time, sat forward and addressed him.

 

‘Accord remains far away. I suggest that a night of reflection might serve us well, and that we regroup on the morrow.’ 

 

She added her voice to those agreeing. 

 

‘I quite agree. My lords and ladies.’ Amroth inclined his head, and left as soon as bare politeness required, disappearing out into the trees. 

 

She approached Thranduil as he left, speaking carefully offhandedly. 

 

‘We intend to ride out for a time, to a dell that overlooks a waterfall; will you join us?’

 

‘Thank you, but I wish to spar with Feren and your marchwardens. I feel too idle here.’ He looked away even as he spoke to her, edgy as a yearling. 

 

Celeborn joined them,  ‘Even after an interminable meeting? I’m not surprised that we were losing Amroth; can you imagine meeting with those councillors regularly?’

 

‘I don’t have to,’ Thranduil said, ‘I’m fairly certain at least one of them is one of mine in disguise.’

 

More proof that politics, as well as most people, were the same everywhere, at their core. ‘And perhaps before that, they were in Thingol’s court. Certainly there were some around Fingolfin. It is fortunate that you and Amroth can speak frankly one another at least.’ 

 

And yet, the responsibilities of leadership appeared to weigh as heavily upon him now as ever. 

 

Celeborn frowned.  ‘Are you certain you won’t join us?’ he asked. 

 

‘I am, so I’ll see you both at dinner. Enjoy your ride.’ 

 

Celeborn’s strong arm curled around her waist as they watched him go, and she leant into him into a pose as familiar as a fighting stance. 

 

‘Do you suppose he thought we meant a different sort of riding?’ she asked. 

 

‘Quite possibly.’ The arm around her waist travelled higher, and fingertips trailed along the sensitive skin where her breast met her rib cage. ‘Do you know, I think if he did then he had the right idea.’

 

——

Amroth seemed much recovered by dinner, humming a tune as they entered the solar. 

 

‘You seem of better temper,’ Thranduil remarked. 

 

‘As do you. Beating the cant out of my marchwardens does you good. Fortunately for your temper, several are demanding the chance to try their hand again. I actually think there might be wagers being placed about who finally manages to definitively best you.’ 

 

‘They are all little more than children, or barely blooded. I fancy more of a challenge; what are you doing in the morning?’

 

Celeborn chuckled. ‘That would certainly give them more to wager on. If you would rather discourage gambling, you might ride out with us tomorrow instead.’

 

‘Yes, do join us. It was very restorative today. It would be an excellent preparation for rejoining the fray tomorrow. It might even make it bearable.’

 

Amroth thoughtful, then nodded decisively. ‘Yes, I think I would enjoy that very much.’ 

 

Thranduil also agreed, which suited her well; if she could coax Amroth to a quieter talk she might discover more about his state of mind (easy enough while riding, as Elrond had demonstrated while courting Celebrian. Or, realistically, when Celebrian was courting Elrond.). It would leave Thranduil and Celeborn alone also, that they could straighten whatever was getting Thranduil in a knot, and a knot in her plans. It shouldn’t take long for them to right this matter, whatever it was; their fond glances grew lingering over the evening, so much so that Amroth began to hide small smiles. 

 

And yet, soon after dinner Thranduil bid them all goodnight, and though he allowed Celeborn to speak with him on the terrace, her husband later told her that he had eschewed a farewell kiss. 

——

Amroth and Thranduil had fallen behind. 

 

‘Where are they?’ Celeborn murmured, easing his mount to turn so that he could peer through the spring foliage behind them. 

 

‘Perhaps they have met some creature,’ she said, ‘and stopped for a chat.’

 

‘Quite possibly. It wouldn’t surprise me with either of them.’ Of course, it wouldn’t be uncommon for Celeborn himself. She sent him the warm, amused feeling in her heart, and he laughed. ‘True enough, my wife. Though no more than you in a good library.’ This was one of the many things she loved him for; how he could look out into the woods and see, truly see, not trees and bushes and animals, but the nets of life that interleaved, and in each living being a lexicon of knowledge and life. He had taught her, of course, but it was knowledge layered upon existing patterns of thought, not a truth known in one’s heart as it appeared to be for him. 

 

He did not appear to be thinking of these things now, though, as he asked, ‘Do you think I worry for him too much?’ Reaching across the gulf between their mounts, her hand met his in reassurance. 

 

‘If you do, it is from devotion. And I agreed with you last eve that he has seemed strange and restive since you were together, and I agree still. But you know as well as I that he will keep his own council until he decides otherwise, my love. I don’t believe that you will help your cause by pushing him; instead be your kind and loving self, and he will come to you when he is ready.’ He nodded in agreement, though he still seemed troubled. 

 

‘There is so much of him that I no longer know,’ he said finally. ‘Not as I once did.’ 

 

When she had stitched tapestries with Melian, the techniques were often quite different from those of her childhood, and yet they all required that the needle pull the thread away from the tapestry before it returned. It was by these means that the full beauty of the tapestry was achieved. She shared this thought with him.

 

Before he could reply, indistinct voices filtered through the leaves, and the two truants came into view around the rise. Seeing them, Thranduil swiftly, though not quite subtly enough touched his fingertips to Amroth’s knee beside his own, and Amroth stopped talking. Both seemed troubled, but Amroth’s face cleared when they reached them. 

 

‘My lady, I don’t believe we ever finished discussing Celebrian’s latest news. Would you care to regale me, whilst we ride?’

 

They tried valiantly for a few volleys, but the conversation petered out quickly, and for a moment, a thin arrow of grief slid between her ribs for their old amity, now rusted through absence, and politics, and the opinions of others. Behind her, Celeborn was asking Thranduil what had delayed them with a slight unnecessary edge in his voice. But Amroth ignored them, and instead urged his horse into a slightly faster walk. 

 

Though he looked ahead, Amroth was smirking as though he held a frog in his mouth. ‘I don’t know what’s going on with you all,’ he declared, ‘and I do not wish to. But those two have danced around each other since Menegroth, and I’ll be damned if I get in the way of them finally sorting it out.’ He glanced at her then, from the corner of his eyes. ‘What surprises me is you. I thought you more possessive.’

 

‘It’s true that Aman has more rules around intimacy,’ she mused aloud. ‘But when I learned about Umanyar customs, I found a certainty within myself; a solution to a quandary I had worried over. To cleave to one only for eternity, eschewing all other love, deep or ephemeral? This seemed anathema to me. And I am certain of my lord husband’s devotion. I am gratified to hear that you have found such joy as I.’

 

Strangely, he seemed troubled once more. The urgency rose in her, the need to speak and a rising certainty that was accompanied by that strange pressure and whitening of vision that signaled a portentous thought or vision. 

 

‘You will find that joy a boon, for the path is long. It winds as a snake through undergrowth, and we must all be prepared to walk it when twilight falls.’

 

He was quiet a moment, patting his horse. ‘I like snakes,’ he said eventually, ‘and I like twilight. Though I don’t suppose that is what you meant me to feel.’ 

 

‘Not really, but you are Celeborn’s kinsman after all and he has all but made a career of surprising me.’

 

He laughed and shook his head. 

 

‘You know, I forgot you,’ he said, as though rediscovering a bead he thought 

lost from a dresser. ‘Not that you existed, of course, but when you were staying in Imladris I forgot who you are. Does that make sense?’

 

‘Unfortunately so; I have felt the same with Celebrian.’

 

‘Oh?’

 

‘Each time I see her once more, it’s as though a mist had faded from my eyes that I never realised was there. The memories of her never have that vibrancy.’

 

‘And there’s a shock,’ he said, though he didn’t appear to be thinking of her if his face and tender tone were to be considered, ‘when they say or do something that is so very much them, and it makes your heart jolt.’

 

‘Yes, just so. Although...with her I feel she is also changed each time I visit. I’ve been assuming she is changing, anyway. I wonder whether it’s simply that I’m seeing parts of her that I didn’t know before. That have taken wing without the influence of her father and I.’

 

‘You think she felt stifled?’ 

 

‘I do not know. I do not believe so, but I worry.’

 

‘The worrying of it probably means that it was not so,’ he said. ‘It’s those who don’t reflect that cause harm.’

 

After that, there was finally some ease between them, and she enjoyed their conversation until they returned. However, it was not enough to hold him from visiting Nimrodel as soon as they had all dismounted.

 

Celeborn shook his head. ‘He truly is besotted. He’ll barely make it back in time for the meeting.’

 

And there it was. The familiar abrupt fading of the waking world. A rising certainty. And a vision: this forest, this beautiful forest, and it’s people, besieged, and a dark, hood-like shadow. A need to speak. ‘He must not shirk his responsibilities. This land will require defence in future.’ 

 

The feeling cleared somewhat, and Celeborn’s hand was under her elbow in support. 

 

‘That was a strong one,’ he said. ‘If somewhat vague.’

 

‘Aren’t they always? I’m well enough.’

 

‘I’ll care for your horses,’ Thranduil said. ‘Take her inside.’


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this one was hard! Got there in the end though, even if it is short. 
> 
> Thranduil is still being Dramatic about his Feelings. Celeborn insists that he is a silver-tongued romancer, and will be written that way thank-you-very-much....except when he’s being pissy. Galadriel looks on with more than a little exasperated fondness.

Celeborn

‘What delayed you?’ 

The cool light of dawn had now fully strengthened, and where it broke through the mallorn it shone warmly upon Galadriel’s golden head before them. Thranduil took a beat too long to answer. 

‘Nothing, save that our horses preferred a slower walk this morning.’

Well, that was a game Celeborn could also play. He shifted his weight, prompting his mount to slow. Thranduil reluctantly followed suit. ‘We were concerned for you both,’ he said, carefully keeping chastisement from his tone. Thranduil rolled his eyes. 

‘Celeborn, it is Amroth’s land. What could possibly have befallen us here?’

‘Rudeness, perhaps? For we were a party of four before you left, and I could see no reason for you to separate from us.’ 

Still, Thranduil stared resolutely ahead. ‘Amroth wished to speak with me privately. Though that is none of your concern. When did you come to have the monopoly on my time?‘

‘It is not your time but your welfare which is of concern to me.’ He shook his head, strove to regain his temper. ‘I know you are vulnerable at present, dear one.’

‘You know, this is exactly the problem.’ Thranduil’s horse, sensing his agitation, walked faster and tossed it’s head. He didn’t notice, his jaw set. ‘This is why the Nandor have so many that do not see the Noldor as friends. Well-meaning patronisation. Perhaps she is becoming more Nandorin, but you are becoming like her also. They have a name for themselves now. They call themselves the Resistors.’

Belain, but this elf made keeping one’s equanimity difficult at times! ‘How original. You’re a Resistor now, are you?’ 

‘No, Celeborn! But I can well understand their frustrations. And I’m flummoxed that you would think that just because I let you bed me I’m somehow vulnerable.’ He said the word as though it left a foul taste upon his tongue. 

All his thoughts pressed together inside his head, but foremost was that this situation was running away from him. They needed to talk this through before they caught up with the others, while they could still speak alone. ‘Thranduil. Thranduil, will you stop? Wait a moment.’ 

They had been loud enough that the woods around them had quieted, and he could hear the shuffle of his horse’s hooves on fallen leaves and tree roots. When he reached Thranduil, who sat quiet and still, he dismounted.

Thranduil followed, but walked to the river and watched, so he stood beside him and let the sight and sound of running water fill his mind for a few moments. Finally, the words were there.

‘Firstly, I resent the idea that you simply let me. I’ll not be accused of coercion, even by implication, and I believe you know that that’s unfair. Second, perhaps you’re correct that you aren’t vulnerable. You may be able to finally be intimate with a love of your life without any emotional response, but I am not. I assure you that I am very much affected, and if-‘

‘I did not say that I am unaffected,’ Thranduil said, though he gave no other outward sign of whatever he was feeling. 

‘And so I hope that you see that you have misunderstood me; my opinion of you hasn’t changed. It is only that you have seemed unlike yourself these last few days.’

Thranduil scoffed. ‘Is it any wonder?’

‘Thranduil, for Ivon’s sake, will you not speak plainly? This is precisely what I mean when I say that you have not been yourself. I only hope that you do not regret a night that I will cherish for all my days.’ He laid a cautious hand upon his shoulder. ‘As I do all the time I am blessed to spend with you.’ Thranduil softened a little under his words, so he continued with a wry smile. ‘Regardless of what mood you might happen to be in.’

Thranduil didn’t smile at the gentle jibe. Instead, he looked yet more troubled.

‘I apologise for speaking so thoughtlessly. You don’t deserve that.’ He rested a hand over Celeborn’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze. ‘I don’t regret choosing to be with you; how could I when being close to you in mind or body makes my soul sing? I only…long for our ease of old. It’s strange to have things different between us. To be unsure where I stand.’

At that, Celeborn frowned and shifted to drape his arm over those tense shoulders, trying to coaxe Thranduil to turn to him, but he remained reticent. ‘Look at me.’ When he finally complied, Celeborn ran his thumb in a caress along his cheek. ‘Where you stand is firmly within my love. And however some things may change, you are always, will always be, so precious to me. And if you doubt that, then I have been remiss and must beg your forgiveness.’

Thranduil sighed and embraced him tightly, and Celeborn could feel the tension in his body, even though the fit so well. ‘I do know it, really. You are not to blame for my uncertainty.’ 

‘Then what is, dear heart? Will you not let me help?’

After a few thoughtful moments, he pulled back, but to Celeborn’s satisfaction stayed in his arms. He shrugged, and sighed, and Celeborn reflected that at least this had not changed; he usually knew when his kinsman was dissembling. At least the diversion he spoke appeared to be true in itself. 

‘The truth is, Amroth is struggling, and I don’t know how to help him.’ 

‘Oh. Well, I believe you help him just by being here. But, cousin, you must remember that you are yourself newly come into kingship. You are not responsible for him also.’ 

‘Then who is? He’s family, distant or not. Nimrodel has her own concerns, indeed she is herself a concern to him. And I know how lonely it can be.’ A moment after speaking, he appeared to realise how revealing that tidbit was, and regret it. Celeborn smoothed his hands soothingly over his back, and strengthened their hold just slightly lest Thranduil decide to try to break it. 

‘I deeply regret not visiting you after the war. I wanted to. I hope you know that I would have done so, had I realised that all was not right between you and Aeluin.’

Thranduil shrugged. ‘In all honesty, I would not have extended an invitation. Not until recently. I needed to find my own feet, and politically, it would have made life much more difficult if you had arrived with Galadriel. Perhaps…’ He shook his head, as though to shake the thought away. ‘My son brings me joy, even if I cannot discuss matters of state with him yet.’

Perhaps he could visit now, alone, and be the support he had failed to be thus far. He opened his mouth to request it, but with this change in their relationship should he first seek Galadriel’s consent? He held his tongue on that for now.

‘I have returned from Imladris now; Amroth can speak with me.’

Thranduil said nothing; indeed he looked away. Celeborn watched him a moment, before resignedly asking, ‘Is it Galadriel?’

At his nod, Celeborn sighed. It was an old wound, and barely ached any more.

‘I am still myself, Thranduil.’ He let his forehead come to rest on Thranduil’s, savouring the familiarity of this pose, and breathing the calming scent of him. ‘And though I know you’re still not being entirely forthcoming with me...I’m sorry for fussing.’. 

Thranduil’s eyes were closed, but there was the crinkle of a smile in the corners. ‘You’re forgiven,’ he replied, winding his arms up around his neck. ‘You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t occasionally.’ As he surged upwards on the balls of his feet, he tipped his head to the side and drew Celeborn into a warm kiss. The sounds of rustling leaves and birdsong faded, as the world shrank to Thranduil. To the hands in his hair, and inviting lips against his own. With his hands in the small of Thranduil’s back, he pulled him close, and felt the mouth under his open on a sigh. It was how he had always pictured their first kiss would have been; slow to grow, under the trees, and grasses and mosses at their feet. He had the sudden urge to take his shoes off and wriggle his toes in it.

All too soon, Thranduil brought his warm hands down to Celeborn’s shoulders and reluctantly leant away. He was still close enough that his lips brushed against Celeborn’s own as he said, ‘We should hurry, unless you wish to own yourself a hypocrite.’

Celeborn longed to stay, to kiss him again, and breathe him in, and lay him down upon the moss and lie innocently entwined as fox cubs in their den. And then, later, when some of his soul deep need for this elf was sated, to lie not so innocently. The label of ‘hypocrite’ would be a small price to pay. 

Apparently divining his thoughts, Thranduil shook his head. ‘Come,’ he said, with a decisive parting kiss, and called his horse as he stepped out of Celeborn’s encircling arms.

* * *

‘He must not shirk his responsibilities. This land will require defence in future.’ 

Her voice. He turned to Galadriel so quickly that from the corner of his eye he saw Thranduil start. Sure enough, before him beneath the mallorns stood that great and remote lady he had met in Menegroth, granddaughter of Finarfin, beauteous and fell. He took hold of her elbow, lest she stagger upon waking. And then, far before usual, she returned, and his wife looked back at him through her sparkling eyes and he could smile again. 

‘That was a strong one,’ he ventured. ‘If somewhat vague.’

‘Aren’t they always? I’m well enough.’ Nevertheless, she slipped her arm through his. 

‘I’ll care for your horses,’ Thranduil said. ‘Take her inside.’ 

Such was unnecessary; Galadriel stood as strong as ever at his arm. Yet when he would have said so, she pressed his arm a little.

‘Thank you, cousin,’ she murmured, and drew him away. ‘“Take her inside”’, she scoffed a few minutes later. ‘He knows you and your fusspot ways well, husband.’

‘Perhaps so. Yet what neither of you would ever admit is that you enjoy me thus.’

When they reached their talan, she drew him into their bedchamber with incendiary kisses. 

‘Well, you are correct about one of those statements,’ she teased, ‘and that is all I shall say or admit to on the subject.’ 

Indeed, that was all either of them said coherently for some time.

Later, after they had bathed, Thranduil did join them as he had said. Celeborn had half feared he would not. Galadriel had assured him that he would, and their eyes met when the knock came on the door. 

‘Victory suits you, my lady,’ he murmured, and kissed her hand before rising to open the door and invite Thranduil to join them on comfortable settees before the fire. When he returned, he found that Galadriel had moved; she now sat on the smaller chair, leaving the larger free. He chose the side nearest to her nevertheless, and took her hand in his when they sat. He poured Thranduil a goblet of the wine without asking, and Thranduil relaxed back onto the chair with a wry smile as he took it. 

‘Thank you for joining us, cousin,’ Galadriel said. ‘Have you told Amdir?’

‘Of what?’ He glanced at Celeborn. ‘He’s no fool.’

Galadriel smiled, and then sobered. ‘Not of that. Of the threat to his land and people.’

‘I haven’t seen him. And what is there to tell, really? We all know that the Watchful Peace cannot last forever; after all, why else do we dub it “watchful”?’

‘I will own that this latest foreseeing was unsettling,’ Galadriel said. 

‘Oh? How so this one in particular?

‘There was a certitude about it. As though the last pin in a lock has fallen into place and the mechanism must now inevitably open. All that remains is to divine what the open door will yield, that we might prepare.’

A return, then, to the vicissitudes of strife. A new evil, or an old; it scarcely mattered, Celeborn thought, a little bitterly even he would admit. And his new joy only newly won- and perhaps not even yet if he were to be truthful with himself. 

‘How long do you foresee before the Peace fails?’ he asked. 

‘I cannot even specify that, I fear, my husband. I must go to the mirror, and soon. The more we know, the better able we shall be to aid Amroth.’ 

Thranduil ran an idle finger around the rim of his goblet, and gave her a lopsided smile. 

‘I never liked when Melian did it,’ he said. ‘Creepy.’’ 

Celeborn squeezed her hand, but chuckled. ‘Only because Luthien would toy with us.’ 

‘True. Do you remember she predicted Amdir would lose all of his hair?’ 

‘And that you would be chased by giant spiders?’

‘Yes! I dreamt of it for a moon,’ he said with a fond laugh, angled and leaning towards him. His lips parted, and Celeborn went forward to meet him. Only to have Thranduil turn abruptly away and take another sip as he sat back. The hand in his gently detangled, and the whisper of lace beside him heralded Galadriel rising.

‘I have decided that I will look into the mirror this evening,’ she said.

‘My dear?’ 

‘Stay.’ Her beautiful smile somehow encompassed them both. Hopefully Thranduil could see that too.‘Take your time. I will not linger there long’. She caressed his cheek, and gave a somewhat tender nod to Thranduil.

Somehow, once they were alone, it only took a few more conversational volleys before Celeborn found the lure of Thranduil’s neck too strong to resist. His skin was warm, and Celeborn fancied he could even feel the beat of his heart’s blood against his lips. Gratifyingly, Thranduil moaned as Celeborn kissed his way to his ear, tilting his head and melting back against the cushions. He seemed inclined towards allowing liberties, finally, so Celeborn touched his knee, spread his hand wide and firm on his thigh. Thranduil swallowed convulsively, and tried to sit up. 

‘She will return soon. I should go.’

Celeborn hummed. ‘You need not,’ he replied, and ran his hand up higher, under Thranduil’s tunic, and ultimately, firmly, cupping over the front of his breeches.

Thranduil shot to his feet as a cork from sparkling wine, near headbutting Celeborn in the process, and took a few flustered steps until he stood behind the settee. That he was affected was clear in his breathing, short not merely from the breath Celeborn had stolen. He was flushed, and his eyes lingered on Celeborn, but he kept the back of the settee between them. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Celeborn said, still sitting but twisted around to look at him, a touch bemused. ‘I shouldn’t have pushed you so.’

‘I do want to.’

‘I know, but I knew you weren’t sure. As I said earlier, I know there is more you have not yet shared with me.’

Thranduil nodded, still watching Celeborn. 

Wait for him, Galadriel had said. But there was a time when Thranduil had shared all with him, and had no fear of his censure. ‘I am not so changed as I fear you believe. Will you not trust me as you once did?’

‘I do trust you. I simply don’t…’ he swallowed, clutched at the back of the seat. ‘I do not wish to hurt you. But I wonder... whether what I feel is worth it, afterwards.’

‘Worth what?’ 

Thranduil paced, his golden hair gleaming in the firelight. ‘All of it. The politics, the hiding, the...I’m not a toy, Celeborn.’ 

‘Of course you’re not.’ He rose and went to him, catching him and holding his arms. ‘I would never think of you so. I don’t want you for a moment to believe that you are anything less than beloved. What have I done to make you think so?’ 

‘It isn’t…’ he sighed, broke the hold. ‘Look, I’m going to go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Thranduil…’

‘It’s fine. I’m fine. Goodnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will see a break in the impasse, and hopefully show that I’m not actually writing conflict for conflict’s sake! I know there’s lots of talking, and that some of it might seem a bit pointless, but this story wouldn’t ring true to me if it all just slotted into place. Hopefully people won’t lose interest.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While initially pleased about the impact of alcohol on Thranduil’s inhibitions, Galadriel finds that polyamory is a bit more problematic to her feelings than she anticipated. 
> 
> A short chapter, but hopefully a revealing one ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for dubious consent in this chapter, and I guess a Galadriel who isn’t being her best self...?

Her husband and his lover laughed at some jest shared only between the two of them. The flickering, receding light from the feasting fire cast occasionally on their hair as they wove between the mallorns to the tree which housed the guest talan Thranduil was staying in. The three of them began to ascend, and in truth, she thought, they had probably been destined to end the evening here from the moment Thranduil had arrived at the feast. He had been clad in the elegantly flowing garb of one of his Southern tribes, with his hair half constrained and falling as a tumbling waterfall from his crown to the small of his back, and Celeborn had barely been able to turn his eyes away. Nor, in truth, had she. 

 

Thranduil struggled for a moment with the door handle; the effect of the free-flowing pitchers of wine, so far obscured by kingly dignity, was clearly catching up with him. Celeborn standing close against his back probably didn’t assist his concentration.  Finally, he opened the door, and she stepped through to note a comfortable studio room, with a seating area and an archway though to a bedchamber. Before she had opportunity to notice much else, the door clicked closed behind her, immediately followed by a dull thump and muffled grunt. Turning, she saw that Celeborn had Thranduil trapped against the door, and was kissing him with a hand cupped protectively at the back of his head, presumably to guard against injury as he accosted him. His lean hips shifted, and his thigh pressed between Thranduil’s for only a moment before he was pushed back. Would Thranduil deny them, deny himself, even now? Even after an evening of heads bent close, teasing jests, and an unwise bout of wrestling that had threatened to demonstrate their change in relationship to the entirety of Lorien’s populace. But no; he guided and coaxed Celeborn through the archway into the bedchamber. As they passed her, the scent of flame lingered in their wake and caught in her throat; she recalled their fire-jumping at this evening’s feast. Celeborn couldn’t compete with Thranduil and his long legs, but fuelled by wine and Thranduil’s intemperate influence he had tried to.

 

She followed them through the archway, where they continued their stumbling dance, fingers fumbling at clothing and sensitive areas of skin. Finally, in the course of extricating himself from the shirt over his head and arms, and at the same time stepping out of his boots, Celeborn tripped and succumbed to gravity. As he fell, he gripped Thranduil’s shoulders and they both went down in a mirror of their earlier wrestling bout. ‘Hacking’, as Amroth had called it, was hardly the most elegant of martial arts, consisting as it did of two competitors kicking each other’s shins until either they yielded or were distracted enough to be brought to ground. Yet it was always entertaining to watch, and had proven more so when she had secretly known how much Celeborn had wished to bed his competitor as he drove him to the ground.

 

Now, Thranduil fell back not onto soil, but onto the plush bed. Celeborn, not so lucky, ending up with a knee on the floor and his torso sprawled across Thranduil’s lap. Fearing hurt, she stepped forward, but true to the inebriated the world over, he simply laughed. Thranduil grinned, and stretched beneath him, like a great cat.

 

‘How fortunate this bed is here,’ he remarked. 

 

‘Fortunate indeed,’ Celeborn said, clambering up to straddle his hips. ‘You should take care, however; falling on your back like that, a person could get the wrong idea. Embarrassing all around.’

 

‘Most embarrassing,’ Thranduil said, rolling his eyes. ‘I’d better remove all doubt.’  

 

With that, he pulled Celeborn down to him by the lapel and kissed him more deeply than she had yet seen. Still stood by the archway she considered crossing to sit at the desk and chair, but such would imply acceptance of this. Though every inch of skin revealed, and every caress, was exactly her desire, this was a marked change of opinion on Thranduil’s part; should she stop them ere they continued? Would they stop themselves? Thranduil currently seemed to quite enjoy ‘being played with’, as Celeborn had implied to her and perhaps this lack of inhibition was exactly what was needed. As she considered, Celeborn finished stripping him of his garments, and dropped them to the side of the bed. With covetous fingers, he traced the bruises that bloomed on his shins and chuckled wryly at this evidence of their earlier battle. From bruised shins, his capable hands travelled up to knees, and to thighs, spreading long legs apart as they went. She watched as he ran his thumbs over the sensitive join between thighs and hips, and Thranduil moaned, tugging at the last of Celeborn’s garments. His hands paused as he was distracted by a deep and posessive kiss. No, she should stop them. She would. 

 

Before she could bring herself to speak, however, Celeborn stilled, and broke the kiss to frown at Thranduil. His voice was hoarse when he said, ‘You didn’t want this yesterday.’

 

‘Today is not yesterday,’ Thranduil replied, seeking Celeborn’s mouth with his own. ‘I do today. Now.’

 

Celeborn sat back, extricated himself to kneel between Thranduil’s feet. His silver hair shifting, he hung his head as he strove for control. ‘You’re full of wine. A great deal of wine.’

 

‘So are you.’ Well, that was true enough. ‘I know what I want. Wanted it all along. Wanted you. Come on, don’t be so damned noble.’ Thranduil stretched down, put his hands on him, and Celeborn drew in a deep, shivering breath that had her own catch in her chest. It was difficult to see from this angle, but however Thranduil touched him, Celeborn spread his legs further and rocked, just a little.

 

‘You had…’ he paused, and searched for the word he wanted, ‘reservations.’ 

 

Thranduil moved one hand to his cock, and stroked from top to bottom. Under Celeborn’s moan, Thranduil spoke almost to himself. 

 

‘I care no longer.  Void-foresaken Melkor himself can watch if he damn well wishes. Just have me.’ 

 

Celeborn rocked into his grip, and Thranduil hooked his leg around Celeborn’s waist and thrust up against him. Celeborn hissed, pressed him back into the bed and lay close against him, chest to chest, and pressed a demanding kiss to Thranduil’s lips, and then more on his neck and throat. Crossing the few steps to the desk without looking away from them, she turned the chair to face the bed and sat, fingers curling over the carved wood of the arms. 

 

‘Have you any lubricant?’ Celeborn asked. 

 

‘No. I... arrow oil. My quiver.’

 

Celeborn caressed his cheek with the back of his fingers. ‘On your belly for me,’ he said. 

 

The tightening of the flesh around her bud caused by the intensity of his instruction swiftly gave way to a little wash of fond love as he kicked the breeches off his legs, staggered to Thranduil’s quiver, and fumbled in the bag. Looking at him, she thought how strange it was that he was hard for someone else, and not for her. He returned, tossed the little jar on the bed and followed it. His steady hands grasped Thranduil’s hips, the prememptory touch belied by a tender kiss to his tailbone, and then lower. Moments later, there was a long, low, devastated moan, and Thranduil spread his thighs wider upon the sheets.  

 

‘Celeborn,’ he gasped, ‘Please. Please.’

 

Her husband obliged, and in less than a minute, she could see the muscles tightening in Thranduil’s legs and feet. His hands clutched at the pillow, as he muffled his cries. What words could possibly exist to describe the feeling of watching this? To explain the impact of the sounds Thranduil made, with that talented tongue what must be fully inside him?  She was subtly rubbing over skirts, watching Celeborn work on him with tongue, lips and busy fingers. Thranduil sounded close to tears before long, and by Eru she knew how it felt to be treated to Celeborn’s unrelenting dedication. Even watching this was so arresting as to almost hurt. She slipped open their connection. Just a little. Just enough to chide him without alerting Thranduil. 

 

_ Have mercy, Husband. _

 

He let out a throaty chuckle, and in her mind his reply rang with amusement and certainty. 

 

_ He can take more. _

 

He might think so, but he was drunk, they both were. But if she interfered, implied a lack of faith, gave credence to his fear...

 

As though he’d heard their conversation, Thranduil shook his head, and rose up to his knees. Celeborn followed him, fingers twisting deeply, repetitively. Cursing, Thranduil bore it for only a few moments longer before twisting away. 

 

‘Enough,’ he choked. ‘It’s enough, Celeborn.’ Flushed, his breathing uneven, he urged Celeborn onto his back and straddled him, the perfect position for her to admire the shape of his back down to his waist and hips. 

 

‘Easy, dear heart,’ Celeborn murmured, then groaned as Thranduil began a long, smooth slide down. When fully seated, Thranduil was still, and though his breathing was deep and even he tipped his face to the ceiling with his eyes closed. ‘It’s alright,’ Celeborn soothed. ‘Take your time.’ He waited, so tense, apparently trying to stay still until Thranduil was comfortable, and gliding his fingers up his sides.

 

She heard Thranduil swallow. ‘It isn’t painful. It’s only…’ he shook his head, and leaned forward for a kiss, the long thick cock sliding out as he did so. The very image of her imaginings only a few nights before. Then he sat back up, and pushed slowly down, and she watched as the whole of Celeborn’s cock sank slowly into him, 

listened as Celeborn sighed in pleasure. She imagined the push, the feeling of flesh cleaved and split open. Thranduil began a slow but thorough motion, and Celeborn bent his knees to rock upwards to meet him with fluid movements. His hands were restless on Thranduil’s thighs, belly, chest, hips, and he watched raptly. They were so caught up in one another, neither noticed one surreptitious hand beneath her skirts, both had no inkling of the two fingers she slid straight inside herself. Thranduil’s hair still tumbled like turbulent water down his back, showing the strength of his shoulders and the shape of his back and waist. His fingers occasionally brushed Celeborn’s hands where they rested on his body, as though seeking or giving reassurance. She slid her thumb slickly around her bud, and moved her fingers in time with their movements, watching Celeborn’s wandering hands, and relishing his sounds growing sharper as his forbearance waned. After a time. Celeborn set his heels into the sheets and thrust hard upwards. Thranduil’s whole body jolted, and he cried out. He moaned as Celeborn repeated the motion, and leant forwards to rest his hands on his broad chest. Celeborn cradled his body as he continued for long, delightful minutes to satisfy them both. The movements lacked Celeborn's usual grace, the rhythm a touch uneven, but Thranduil didn't seem to mind in the least. 

 

‘Ah…Fuck.’ Thranduil’s voice cracked on the obscenity, and his strong arms yielded a little as he apparently fought to hold himself from collapsing. 

 

In a moment, Celeborn had him on his back, without separating them, and she just had the clarity of mind to think ‘That is how he does that,’ before he lifted those long legs up over his shoulders, bending Thranduil in two, and began to drive into him. Unless he told Celeborn to stop, Thranduil was unable to do anything but take it, and how expectedly satisfying it was, watching Celeborn... fuck someone. Then she noticed the fingers of their hands entwined upon the pillow, and remembered that what they did could never be described so simply. Thranduil grew incoherent, sounding truly drunk, and clutching at Celeborn’s arms. She moved two fingers quickly across her bud, trying to keep her breathing regular enough not to alert them. 

 

Finally, Thranduil cried out ‘Aah! Yes!’ and then a broken sounding ‘Celeborn’, and she had to restrain an inelegant grunt of pleasure. Celeborn gasped, and buried his face in his neck as he continued to thrust in a now irregular rhythm. He was pushing into Thranduil quickly, and withdrawing a fraction more slowly, apparently savouring the drag of his body. His breathing stuttered, and she had to concentrate on holding the rush of liquid that threatened. With the sounds of his climax in her ears, she let herself finish. 

 

She came back to herself, to realise she had been staring at Thranduil’s fingers grazing soothingly over Celeborn’s arm, and at that moment Celeborn also roused, and in spite of his intoxication withdrew as though he were Este the Gentle herself. They paused in each other’s arms, as though a little dazed by the strength of their own desire. 

 

It would be wise for her to pursue answers from the Mirror again this night. The previous evening, when she left them together, the Mirror had proven mercurial as ever. The lark had long since begun to sing, and the dawn light was beginning to filter through the leaves, by the time she had left. An ache pulsed behind her eyes. And yet. The wisdom she often gleaned eluded her, the images repetitive and irrelevant, through them woven threads of her husband as she failed to maintain the focus of her mind. Unable to avoid dwelling on what was happening back in her sitting room, the mirror presented her with jumbled visions of...well, of what? Past, or present, future or what would never come to pass? Or perhaps, as it sometimes seemed, creations of the Mirror’s own devising, neither malicious or benevolent, just as the device itself. 

 

She could leave Celeborn here, to sleep beside Thranduil and build that bond that she needed to help keep her husband safe. He would gather Thranduil to him, perhaps to rest his head upon his chest, and when Thranduil woke it would be to Celeborn’s cherishing hands and the sight of dawn light in his grey eyes as he looked upon him with devotion. Even now, he murmured something soft as he drew a cloth over Thranduil’s abdomen; sweet nothings presumably. As she watched, their eyes met and smiles bloomed, and broke to soft, fond laughter. They had taken ample time; it wasn’t as though Thranduil had never been bedded before. She had given them this evening, and much more besides, and for Thranduil to ask for more than his due would be greedy beyond bearing. The mirror could wait for a time; her husband would spend the night in their bed, as it should be. Still it would not do to alienate Thranduil. 

 

_ ‘Melkor himself can damn well watch’,  _ he had said. 

 

She rose, and walked slowly and deliberately to the bed, and squeezed Celeborn’s bare shoulder as he looked down at Thranduil. He rose up on one elbow, and startled a little, as he bent to place a whispering kiss upon his forehead. ’You need not be embarrassed for my sake,’ she murmured, letting the dregs of her arousal coat her voice. ‘You are very beautiful, cousin.’ She let herself look down over his body from head to toe, and back, and, bizarrely, he blushed.

 

‘Goodnight,’ he said, looking away from her. Very well; if he would look to dismiss her then let him have his satisfaction, but she would take her husband with her. She said no more, but smiled and crossed to the archway to stand and wait expectantly. She saw the moment Celeborn realised what she expected of him, how he paused, and weighed the moment before finally, inevitably, kissing Thranduil farewell and rising to collect his clothing.


End file.
